Harry Potter and the Knife of Hephaestus
by Aradia Ring
Summary: Harry's fifth year may prove to be the most dangerous of all--- and not just for him. An ancient object holds incredible power, and blood becomes more important than ever before. There's a question around every corner, along with memories of the past that
1. I

**Title: Harry Potter and the Knife of Hephaestus (1/??)**

**Author Name: Aradia Ring**

**Category:  Action/Adventure, Mystery**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Spoilers: All**

**Summary: Harry's fifth year may prove to be the most dangerous of all--- and not just for him. An ancient object holds incredible power, and blood becomes more important than ever before. There's a question around every corner, along with memories of the past that some people would rather not be brought up. The new DADA teacher may hold the key to the mystery, but the question is, will she give it?**

**Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. So, unless you want a collection of Star Wars figurines, don't bother trying to sue.**

                "_Dear Miss Slayt," the letter began._

_"We recently received word that you had returned to the country, after an extended vacation. Due to the lack of a new teacher for the subject Defense Against the Dark Arts, I have decided to extend the hand of friendship, and ask you to take the position. Please send your reply within the next few days._

_                Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore_

_                       Headmaster, __Hogwarts__School__ of Witchcraft and Wizardry"_

_September 1st, 1995_

**********

                Harry Potter felt uneasy. This in itself was nothing new; he had been through enough that any normal person would be a younger version of Mad-Eye Moody. The reason, however, was strange. He was uneasy because nothing had happened.

                "That's how you know you're going crazy," he mumbled to himself, pushing his trunk across the platform, crowded with new students. "It's when you're scared because life is normal."

                "Really?" asked a voice from behind him. "I always thought it was when you started talking to yourself." Harry turned around, and came face to face with Ron Weasley, leaning against his trunk, one bright red eyebrow raised. "Harry! Good to see you again! Why didn't you answer my last letter?"

                Harry raised his own eyebrows. "Ron, I got it this morning. Not much point in writing back." 

                The redhead looked a bit embarrassed. "Oh, all right then." Looking for a change of topic, he said, "Have you seen Hermione? She didn't come to visit this summer either. Honestly, it was horrible, stuck in that house all summer with the twins. They're still cooking up new jokes, you know. And they needed a guinea pig for each."

                Harry winced, with a small pang of guilt. He had been the one to give the twins the money they needed to get the joke business started, thereby sentencing his best friend to a summer of being experimented on. "What does being a giant canary feel like?"

                "I wouldn't know. They're on opossums now." Ron looked around the platform absently, and his face lit up. "There's Hermione!" Harry craned his neck, trying to see over the heads of the crowd. Sure enough, a familiar, bushy brown head was making its way across the platform. "HERMIONE! OVER HERE!" Ron bellowed, making everyone within three feet cringe, and Neville Longbottom, on the other end of the platform, drop his toad. Harry tried not to laugh, as Hermione made her way over to them.

                "Honestly, Ron, I was already heading towards you, there was no need to deafen everybody in the station!" she said, a bit annoyed. Harry noticed that her hair seemed to have tamed down some over the summer, and was now in pretty curls framing her face. He was also surprised to see that he was now several inches taller than Hermione, when last year he had been the shortest of the three. She apparently noticed the same thing, but was not as pleased as Harry. "So now I'm the shortest one, too?" she said, annoyed. "You had to go and grow, didn't you, Harry?"

                "I could hardly help it," he said, a bit offended.

                "Oh, I know," she said offhandedly. "But it doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. How was your summer, Harry?"

                "With the Dursleys?" he asked. "Bad, as usual."

                She turned to Ron. "I'm glad to see you're not stuck as a giant opossum," she said teasingly.

                He grimaced. "Scariest moment of my life. Now Fred and George are making sure they have an emergency antidote before they test anything. Mum was really mad over that." Just as Ron finished his sentence, the train's whistle sounded.

                Mrs. Weasley bustled over. "Are your trunks on the train?" she asked. Not waiting for an answer, she continued. "Good. I'm sorry you couldn't spend the summer with us, Harry, Dumbledore seemed to want you to stay with your relatives."

                "That's all right, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry. "I understand."

                "Good! Now you'd better all get on the train, before all the compartments get filled up!" The three made their way over to the train and, with a last wave to Mrs. Weasley, climbed aboard.

                The train ride passed quickly, and before they knew it, the three Gryffindors were seated at their house table, watching the Sorting. Hermione squealed as "Madderson, Lilac!" was called. "That's my cousin!" she said breathlessly. "I didn't even know she had gotten a letter! I hope she's a Gryffindor!" Sure enough, after a moment, the hat loudly pronounced the relieved Lilac a Gryffindor, and the girl went to sit with her ecstatic cousin at the Gryffindor table.

                "Lilac!" Hermione cried happily, hugging the petite girl tightly. "Why didn't you tell me you had gotten a Hogwarts letter?"

                Lilac squeezed back just as tightly. "I didn't know you went here, Hermione! Oh, I'm so glad, I was so scared I would be alone, and wouldn't have any friends, and wouldn't get good grades---" Ron smirked. Obviously, Hermione's concern with her grades was not unusual in her family. "But now you can help me, right?"

                "Of course, Lilac!" Hermione said, beaming. "Well, the teachers are mostly nice, but---" Harry tuned out the rest of their conversation, turning away just in time to see "Young, Joseph!" become the latest Ravenclaw.

                As McGonagall carried the hat out of the great hall, Dumbledore stood up, and began to speak. "Welcome, all, to another year!" He smiled benevolently around at all the students, his eyes lingering almost imperceptibly on Harry. "Once again, we have a new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm sorry to say Professor Moody decided not to teach this year, and instead, headed back to retirement." Harry could understand only too clearly the reasoning behind this, but the majority of the students looked a bit confused. Most had not known that their teacher the previous year was actually a Death Eater in disguise. "This year we have joining us Professor Damia Slayt. Professor Slayt, will you please stand?"

                At the staff table, a young woman rose to her feet. She was of average height, and while most of the teachers chose to wear dark colors, Professor Slayt was clothed in a cloak of forest green. The hood was up, shadowing her face. As the students watched, she pushed back her hood, and stared out at them all.

                She was beautiful. Her hair was raven black, falling silkily down her back. Her eyes, a brilliant green, were set against skin so pale it was a wonder she was alive. She looked fragile, and delicate, like she might break if she was pushed too hard. But she spoke in a loud, clear voice before sitting back down. "I have decided, at the Headmaster's request, to come here and teach for one year. I hope we will all enjoy my time here." She looked very much like she hoped nothing of the sort. At the other end of the table, Snape smirked.

                Dumbledore smiled out at them all as Professor Slayt sat down again. "Well then! Eat!" The food appeared on the tables, and all dug in. At the Gryffindor table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione spoke quietly among themselves. Lilac chatted with a few second years, who looked eager for the chance to impart their wisdom on someone younger than themselves.

                "I don't know about her," Hermione said, with her eyes narrowed. "Did you see the way Snape smirked when she spoke? I think they're friends."

                "Snape has friends?" Ron said, his mouth hanging open.

                Hermione replied, "I wouldn't have thought it either, and close your mouth, Ron, nobody wants to see your chewed-up potatoes."

                Ron turned red and continued chewing his food, as Harry spoke. "I don't know, Hermione. I don't think Dumbledore would hire her if she wasn't on the level. And he trusts Snape."

                "I didn't say she was a Death Eater, I just said I didn't know if she looked like a good teacher!" Hermione said exasperatedly.

                "She's pretty," Ron said, swallowing his potatoes and looking at the new teacher with interest.

                "Oh, honestly!" Hermione said, turning red. "That's all that matters in a teacher?"

                Harry saw a fight brewing, and tried to stop it before it could start. "Hermione, he was just commenting. Let's finish eating, I'm starved. Dudley was still on his diet," he explained, grabbing a forkful of carrots. Reluctantly, the two turned back to their food, Hermione with a loud sniff.

                Only twenty minutes later, the majority of students in the hall were leaning back against their chairs, many with a look of deep satisfaction on their faces. At a nod from Dumbledore, the prefects rose.

                "First year Gryffindors!" Hermione called out loudly. "Follow me if you want to find the common room!" With a squeak, Lilac jumped up and fumbled her way through the forest of stretched out legs to Hermione's side. The other first years were not far away. "All right then, come on!" Hermione swept away, followed closely by the mass of first years. Harry and Ron followed at a distance.

                Once in the common room, Hermione turned to her friends, who had somehow become mingled in with the new students, and stood sleepily like two very large eleven year olds. "You two go to bed now," she told them.

                "Who are you, our mother?" Ron asked halfheartedly, but they both went. Harry, just before he fell asleep, had time for one last thought: hopefully, this year would be peaceful. But it wasn't likely.

                Potions was their first class the next morning. "It's not enough that we have to take classes with the overgrown bat," Ron grumbled as they made their way down to the dungeons. "But we have to take them this early in the morning, too?"

                "We know what you mean, Ron," Hermione said, as they dashed into the Potions dungeon. Harry knew it was no use; they were at least ten minutes late. He closed his eyes and waited for the number of points.

                "Potter, Granger, Weasley, sit down," Snape snarled. "Tardiness is bad enough, don't waste what time you do decide to spend in my class." The three looked at each other in awe: had Snape really just passed up a chance to lose Gryffindor points? They weren't about to argue, though, and quickly sat down. "Today," Snape continued, "We will be making a cheerfulness potion."

                And that's how it was throughout the entire class. Much to the Gryffindor's joy and the Slytherin's anger, and everyone's bewilderment, Snape was almost civil throughout the entire lesson. At the end of the class, both Gryffindor and Slytherin had the exact same number of points they had started out with.

                "That was... not right..." Ron said, dazed, as they left the Potions room.

                "Something was definitely wrong there," Harry agreed as he pulled out his schedule. "What do we have now?"

                "Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione answered, pulling out her own schedule and checking it. "I can't wait to see how Professor Slayt is! You realize she's our first female Defense teacher?"

                "No, we hadn't," Ron muttered. "Ow! Hermione, let go of me, I'm coming! OW!" She kept her firm grip on his wrist, pulling him down the hall until he wrenched his arm out of her grasp. "Hey, I need that limb, y'know." Hermione made a noise of impatience and wached Harry run to catch up with them, stuffing his fallen schedule back in his bag.

                "What do you think we'll study this year?" Hermione asked Harry and Ron.

                "Hopefully, how to deal with overexcited girls," Ron muttered, rubbing his wrist. If Hermione heard him, she ignored him.

                "I'm hoping we learn the kind of defense that we'd use against Death Eaters," Harry said as they rounded the corner into the Defense hallway. Hermione nodded eagerly.

                Professor Slayt was waiting for them when they entered the classroom. As the Gryffindors settled themselves down, her eyes moved over the class, taking them in one by one and memorizing them.

                "I am Professor Damia Slayt," she told them, speaking quietly. She didn't need to raise her voice. Every student in the class was hanging onto her words. "I have never taught before, and frankly, I never had any intention of doing so." She stood up from behind her desk, and moved around to stand in front of it, the skirts of her forest-green robes swishing about her ankles. "I have been told that students enjoy knowing about their teachers, and having their teachers know about them. So today will be a question-and-answer day. Unless you have no questions. Then we will begin work." All except Hermione looked horrified at the idea of getting work on the first day. "Questions?"

                The Gryffindors looked at each other, each hoping someone else had a question to ask Professor Slayt. Finally, Seamus Finnigan tentatively raised his hand. Slayt swooped down on him in an instant. "Finnigan?"

                Seamus looked terrified of their new teacher. It wasn't hard, she possessed an aura of intense power and restrained anger, hidden behind a calm mask, waiting to be unleashed at a single unfortunate individual. "Erm- how old are you, Professor?"

                Professor Slayt looked at him, her face bland. "That's a rude question to ask an adult woman, Finnigan," she said. Seamus went red. "I am thirty-five. I was in the same year at school with Severus Snape, your Potions Master." A few murmurs went around the room at this. Not only did Slayt look like she was only in her mid-twenties, Snape looked as though he was at least forty-five. "Any more?"

                Ron raised his hand. "What house were you in at school?"

                Slayt raised an eyebrow, the only movement on her perfectly still face. "I was in Slytherin, but I had a fair few Gryffindor associates." Again, the students murmured. What was Dumbledore thinking, having a former Slytherin teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? Most of them were already taking bets on when Professor Slayt would attack Harry, but this was a bit much. Slayt, however, easily got the jist of what was circling the room.

                "There are several things I will not tolerate in my classroom," she interrupted the gossip. "Or in any room I occupy. One is profanity. It is beneath you, and it is beneath me. I will not hear it. Tardiness is the next. If you are ten minutes or less late, you lose three points for each minute you are late. More than that, and you get a detention for each additional minute." Again, murmurs. Professor Slayt was strict. "A third is prejudice. Birth, color, house- anything. If I hear one comment of this sort- _one- you will be on your way to the Headmaster's office, no questions asked. And there will be an apology made to the offended person before one toe is set through that door again."_

                Neville raised his hand slowly, looking scared to death. "P-professor," he said, shaking slightly, but looking like he felt he had to ask. "Are you one of the _Slayt Slayts? The pureblood Slayts?"_

                Professor Slayt barely glanced at Neville. "Yes, my family is a very old pureblood family. We, however, do not hate Muggles or Muggle-borns, like some pureblood families. No Muggle-born student need worry about unfairness from me."

                She looked around at the rest of the class. "Some of you may believe you have heard of rumors about the Slayt family. Whatever you have heard, it does not apply to me, and I'll not have it brought up. The past, in my opinion, is best forgotten.  And that is the end of the story." The bell rang, and the Gryffindors all snatched up their bags. "Tomorrow, we begin work," Slayt called, as the students filed out the door. "Potter, wait a moment."

                Harry threw a glance back at Ron and Hermione, who looked sympathy at him. As they moved out the door with the rest of the class, Harry stepped up to Slayt's desk. "Professor?"

                She looked straight at him, meeting his eyes squarely. And for the first time all lesson, Harry saw the mask slip from her pretty features as she looked into his eyes. Her eyes were only slightly darker than his own, and as Harry looked, he saw sorrow, and longing, and the look of someone who wishes for something impossible. 

                "Severus was right," she murmured, watching him. Harry began to squirm, unnerved by this sudden intense scrutiny. "Your eyes- I can almost-"

                The mask slipped back into place very suddenly, and Professor Slayt shook her head very slightly, making her hair ripple. "You can go now, Potter," she said, her voice toneless again. Harry took a step backwards. She didn't move. Then, quickly, he spun and left. But he was aware every second he was in the room of her eyes following him.

                "It was really weird," Harry said later to Ron and Hermione. "She was looking at me like she wanted something... it was kind of creepy."

                Ron replied, "You know, Harry, you'd think you'd be used to it by now, three out of four of our previous Defense teachers _have tried to kill you."_

                "No, Lockhart, only tried to Memory Charm him," Hermione said. "Only Moody--- I mean, Crouch Jr.--- and Quirrell tried to kill him."

                "True. What else is there, though?"

                Ron gaped. "Maybe she has a crush on you or something, Harry!"

                Hermione giggled. "Ron, really. She's Snape's age! She's old enough to be his mum!"

                "That doesn't mean anything," Ron said stoutly, while Hermione giggled and Harry squirmed uncomfortably. "Maybe she's a fedopile!"

                "Pedophile, Ron," Hermione corrected him.

                Harry asked, "What's a pedophile?"

                "Child molester," Ron said.

                "And I doubt that," Hermione added in. "She doesn't seem the type. But I think she is hiding something. She seems a very secretive person."

                _You're telling me, Harry thought, as they left the castle and walked towards Hagrid's cabin. "Do you think she's dangerous?"_

                "I think," Hermione said carefully, "that after last year, Dumbledore would check whoever he picked very, very carefully." But what was unspoken they all knew: even Dumbledore wasn't perfect.

                Hagrid was outside in his vegetable garden when they showed up at his cabin. "Well, 'ello there!" he said brightly, straightening up and placing the hoe against the wall of the cabin. "Haven't seen yeh since las' year! How've yeh been?"

                "Hungry," Ron said plaintively. Hagrid chuckled.

                "Well then, I guess yeh'd better come in and 'ave a snack, eh?" Ron brightened up, and the trio followed Hagrid inside.

                "Just had yer firs' lesson with Professor Slayt?" Hagrid asked as he set a plate of rock cakes in front of them. Without waiting for a response, he continued. "I saw th' schedules before Professor McGonagall handed them out. How do yeh like her?"

                "She's... interesting," Harry said. Hagrid smiled.

                "Always was, Damia. I remember when she was a student, 'ere. Quiet girl, but her friends were more'n loud enough fer her."

                "You knew Professor Slayt?" Hermione asked, startled.

                Hagrid sat down at the table. "O' course I did. Yeh didn't think yeh were th' first students I befriended, did yeh? She was one o' the sweetest girls yeh could ever meet, though she did have her vindictive streak. Didn't know her 'til her third year, an' she was pretty quiet."

                "Looks like she hasn't changed much," Ron muttered, trying to find an edible part of the rock cake. After a few minutes, he gave up, throwing the cake down and looking at Hagrid. "Do you trust Professor Slayt, Hagrid?"

                "Do I trust her?" Hagrid looked offended. "O' course I trust her! She wouldn' hurt a fly!" Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other. They had heard _that before._

                It was two days later that they had their next Defense class. Most of the school was talking about Professor Slayt. The Slytherins were immensely proud of her, for reasons no other house understood. The Ravenclaws, overall, liked her, the Hufflepuffs were terrified, and the Gryffindors were wary. But all agreed on one thing: scary, great, or anything: Professor Slayt was undeniably interesting.

                And she seemed to have an unusual interest in Harry. Most of the school ignored this, all the previous Defense teachers had been interested in Harry, albeit mostly a somewhat morbid interest. Harry, however, was a bit unnerved. And so he headed into Defense that day with a feeling that he was heading towards his own execution.

                "This year," Professor Slayt began as soon as they were all seated. "We will study, in general, two things. Self-defense against Dark Mages---" the class had been expecting this "--- and alternate dimensions." There was a bit of talk at this, and, after a moment, Dean Thomas raised his hand.

                "Excuse me, Professor," he said, and Harry noticed he didn't seem a bit afraid of Slayt. "What do alternate dimensions have to do with this subject?"

                Professor Slayt stood up. "I was waiting for someone to ask that question. It took my Ravenclaws ten minutes to ask that." She walked around the side of her desk and stood in front of it, facing the class. "To understand the answer, you must first know the basics of what an alternate dimension is. And please, no questions or comments until I have finished my explination." She moved to the front of the room and drew a small circle on the blackboard. Then, she took three steps backward, faced the board, and, with a flick of her wrist, tossed the piece of chalk at the board, so that it hit the center of the circle an cracked in half. She stooped down and picked up both halves of the piece of chalk.

                "This chalk, when I threw it, hit the center of the circle. We all saw it, and we all know it happened. But, when the chalk hit the board, another dimension was created, another universe. One where the chalk didn't hit the circle. That dimension split off from ours at that exact moment the chalk hit the board, and it exists parallel to us, right at this moment." She placed the chalk on her desk. "Every decision you make, a dimension splits off from ours. A dimension where the opposite thing happened. Somewhere, in the mass of dimensions, there is one where the dinosaurs still exist. There is one where none of you exist, and there is one where all of you except one exist. There is one where I do not exist, and there is one where my family is entirely Muggles, and where yours---" she pointed to Hermione--- "is a pureblood family. There is one where every last one of you is a Slytherin, and I was a Gryffindor. Every possibility that could ever happen, every tiny, insignificant thing, down to whether or not a particular ant was stepped on, there is a universe where each one exists, and is a reality. Do you understand?" 

                A general murmur of assent was heard throughout the room. "Well, all right then," Slayt continued. "Now, imagine that a Dark Mage had a way of getting into all the other universes that exist. In these other universes, there are ways of getting enormous personal power at very little cost, there are creatures who would gladly sacrifice themselves for as little as a bar of chocolate, not to mention serve someone loyally for even less than that. Imagine all these resources at the hands of a Dark Mage." The class looked downright terrified, and reasonably so.

                Professor Slayt took a step forward from where she had been leaning against her desk, and in one movement, casually shrugged off her cloak. Underneath it she was wearing a cream-colored tunic and knee length pants, the tunic tied at the waist with a green sash. Her feet were bare. "The defense tactics we will start out with this year," she said coolly, "is martial arts. Has anyone here ever studied martial arts, of any kind?" Hermione slowly raised her hand, and Slayt nodded at her. "Good. You, Miss Granger, will be my assistant, should the occasion call for it. For those of you who have no idea what martial arts are, they are a fighting technique that uses only the body, and no weapons. That is a sufficient explanation. Now," and with incredible speed, Slayt launched into a routine of kicks, punches, jumps, and blocks that left Harry's head spinning.

                It really did look like something out of a movie. Slayt leapt into the air, throwing out a kick as she landed gracefully and blocked an imaginary punch. She crouched down on one foot, swinging her other leg around, knocking the feet out from under invisible opponents before leaping up again and throwing a punch in the opposite direction.

                After one final flip, Slayt stopped her performance; much to the dismay of most of the class (Neville and Parvati had been a little frightened). Breathing heavily, she said, "That, in essence, is what I am going to be teaching you. You will be nowhere near that level at the end of the year, but you will have enough training. Now, homework." Lavender groaned audibly, then flushed. "Your homework for tonight," Slayt continued, unperturbed, "Is to be out on the Quidditch pitch at eight o'clock this evening. You will see the rest of your assignment then." The bell rang, and the Gryffindors grabbed for their bags and ran out the door. Professor Slayt watched them go. And as Harry ran out the door, he saw out of the corner of his eye, Professor Slayt sit down in her chair and murmur, "Class dismissed."

(A/N)I know that not much happened in this chapter, but I had to introduce it. I understand that Professor Slayt looks a little like Harry, and also seems like a bit of a Mary Sue. Trust me, she is not a Mary Sue. You'll see why later. And the resemblance to Harry is black hair and green eyes. That's about where it stops. Well, please review, and that's about all I can ask. Until the next chapter

                All my love

                                Aradia Ring


	2. II

**Title: Harry Potter and the Knife of Hephaestus (2/??)**

**Author Name: Aradia Ring**

**Author Email: DragonGirl917@aol.com**

**Category:  Action/Adventure, Mystery**

**Keywords: Slayt, Snape, Knife of Hephaestus**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Spoilers: All**

**Summary: Harry's fifth year may prove to be the most dangerous of all--- and not just for him. An ancient object holds incredible power, and blood becomes more important than ever before. There's a question around every corner, along with memories of the past that some people would rather not be brought up. The new DADA teacher may hold the key to the mystery, but the question is, will she give it?**

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. So beat it.

**A/N: I want to clear up a little misunderstanding here: Damia is pronounced DAH-me-ah, not DAY-mee-ah. Slayt rhymes with wait. And Hephaestus is Heh-FESS-tus. Also, this chapter presents a fair amount of the questions mentioned in the summary. But, not to worry, there's a lot more left! Any questions? Put them in your review, or email them to me. Review mentions at the bottom.**

  
Damia Slayt sat down heavily on her favorite armchair in her quarters. It had once been in the Slytherin common room, about eighteen or so years ago. It had long since been gone, bought and resting in a Slayt house. On the arm of the chair, a ball of black fuzz shook itself out with an indignant sound. It unfolded itself, and the cat stared directly at its owner.  
  
Damia pulled the animal into her lap and began stroking it. "Hello, Icicle, love." The cat arched its head against her hand, and Damia smiled. Many of those who had met Icicle had asked about her name. Icicle was entirely black; there was nothing to suggest her name. Unless you looked carefully. Most cats had green or yellow eyes, which shone red in the dark. Icicle had eyes of a pale, icy blue, and in the dark, they were a disconcerting purple. "How was your day? Mine was, again, filled with nasty little students trying to fake attention and get on my good side." She snorted. "Do they think I'm Severus? I'd much prefer them to do work over flattery." Icicle meowed thoughtfully, glancing up at her mistress. Damia nodded. "Of course. Potter never skips his classes. Goody-two-shoes, as Severus would say." Icicle wrinkled her nose. "I know how you feel. I can't stand the type either. But I'll put up with Potter. You know, if things had ended up differently---"  
  
Damia was cut off by her fire suddenly blazing into life across from her, the head of Severus Snape appearing in it. "Damia?"  
  
"Severus," she replied blandly, the mask that she always wore slipping back into place. She rested a hand on Icicle's head. "Something you need?"  
  
"Yes," he said, apparently a touch annoyed that she was using her teacher tone with him. "Powdered bicorn horn, if you have any. Those Weasley twins have raided my stores again."  
  
Damia raised an eyebrow. "I wonder if they'll ever find out about the monitoring charms. Yes, I have the horn, Severus. You can come over here and pick it up."  
  
"Thank you, Damia," Severus said stiffly, and pulled his head out of the fire with a small *pop*.  
  
With a sigh, Damia rose from her armchair and opened up her cabinet. Rummaging through it for a moment, her hand hit something that didn't feel quite like a bottle. Pulling it out, she saw something that she immediately wished she hadn't found.  
  
It was a book, bound in fine leather, the gold lettering faded and peeling. She ran one fingertip gently over the cover, tracing the words that could no longer be seen. Should she open it? She knew how much pain it would bring. Slowly, her hand moved to lift the cover.  
  
"Damia? May I come in?" Severus's voice startled her. Hastily, she opened up a drawer and slipped the book inside.  
  
"Yes, Severus, the door's open," she called out to him, as she slammed the drawer shut. When Severus opened the door, all he saw was Damia at her cabinet, shuffling bottles and boxes aside. "I have the bicorn horn right here," she said, pulling a gray bottle out and setting it on the counter. "It might be a little old, but I think it will work."  
  
He raised his eyebrows. "Bicorn horn doesn't go bad. You should know that, you were excellent at Potions."  
  
"I also spent the last thirteen years living as a Muggle."  
  
He winced. "I have no idea why anyone would want to do that. Care to explain the reasoning to me?" He slid into an armchair, apparently ready to wait as long as it took to hear her explanation.  
  
"Don't you have a potion to get back to?"  
  
Severus waved a hand dismissively. "It can wait. I want to know why you deserted all the friends you had and ignored the world you were born into for several years."  
  
She sat down in the armchair opposite. "Meaning why I ignored all the letters you sent me for the last thirteen years."  
  
"If you want to put it that way."  
  
She glared at him. "I don't see why it's any of your business. You and I ended our friendship when we were seventeen."  
  
"I prefer to think of it as put on hold."  
  
She snorted elegantly. "You would. You always were exceedingly contrary."  
  
"Yes, but you loved it," he said, smiling the smile that so few saw.  
  
"When I was seventeen," she replied. She was immune to the smile that had made her go weak in the knees when she was in her teens. "If I explain my reasoning to you, will you go away?"  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
"If I explain it to you and then threaten to hex you, will you go away?"  
  
"Most likely."  
  
She sighed. "I went to America because I had just suffered a great loss, and wanted to get away from where it had happened. I went into the Muggle world because all the Harry Potter stories were starting up again, and I wanted to get away. I came back because I simply could not stand the Muggle world for any longer. I am a Slayt, magic is in my blood. I came to Hogwarts because I was offered the job and I wanted something to do with my time. Are you happy now?"  
  
"No." He rose and looked her square in the eye. She stared back, with a look that would have made most people run screaming. "I'm not happy. I want my friend back, Damia."  
  
"_So do I." The words were filled with such venom that Severus turned away. Damia smiled bitterly. There was not much that could ruffle Severus Snape. "Now leave."  
  
He left.  
  
  
  
At eight o'clock that evening, the Gryffindor fifth years trudged morosely out to the Quidditch pitch. "What d'you think we're going to be doing out here?" Ron asked no one in particular.  
  
"I heard she's going to be using the Unforgivable curses on us, like last year!" Lavender said shrilly. "Only this year, she'll be using the Cruciatus Curse!"  
  
Parvati gasped. Harry snorted. He remembered only too well what the Cruciatus Curse felt like, and while the Imperius Curse might be tried on students as a teaching method, he was sure that the Cruciatus never would.  
  
As they got closer to the Quidditch pitch, they could make out a small group of figures, all huddled together. Harry couldn't blame them, it was cold for September. As the figures became clearer, Harry could make out a far too familiar silver-blond head.  
  
"Oh no," he moaned. "We're doing this with the Slytherins."  
  
Draco Malfoy didn't seem too happy about it either. "We're with the Gryffindors? Add insult to injury! It's bad enough we're out here, now we have to be out here with Mudbloods too?" His lip curled as he looked at Hermione, and Ron turned red with fury. But before anything could happen, a voice called out from across the pitch.  
  
"Draco Malfoy!" Professor Slayt was striding across the field, eyes blazing, green cloak whipping about her ankles. She looked furious. Malfoy shrank back. Slayt was a truly intimidating sight of justice on the warpath, and Malfoy was terrified. "Detention," she hissed. "For the next week. Twenty points from Slytherin. And to the Headmaster's office, now. Don't let me see you again until it's with an apology to Miss Granger." The Gryffindors were awed. Was this a former Slytherin, sticking up for a Gryffindor? The only explanation was that the world was coming to an end.  
  
The Slytherins were downright furious. "But Professor," stuck in Pansy Parkinson. "He was only-"  
  
Slayt whirled on her. "Only what? Insulting another student? Just today I told you, all of you, that I would not stand for that. There is absolutely no excuse for him, Miss Parkinson. Now be silent." Pansy's eyes narrowed, but she was quiet. Slayt glared at Malfoy, and he slunk away, presumably to the Headmaster's office.  
  
"Now," she said, as soon as the muttering had died down, "We will begin your training. Please take off your robes." Confused the students did so, and in a moment, there were sixteen students all standing around in the Muggle-style clothes they wore under their robes. Only Pansy refused to remove her robes, and, when pressed for a reason why, she whispered something into Slayt's ear that the other student's couldn't hear. So Pansy stood off to the side while the others stood around.  
  
"I want you to run three laps around the Quidditch pitch," Slayt said. The students looked at each other, confused. Surely she couldn't mean all of them?  
  
But she did. "Yes, all of you! Now go!" She blew a whistle that was hanging around her neck, and, slowly, the students set off jogging around the pitch.  
  
"This has to constitute some form of torture," puffed Blaise Zabini as she passed Hermione. Ron nodded fervently, saving his breath. Harry, on the other hand, didn't seem at all unhappy.  
  
"Come on, you two!" he called out happily. "Speed up! This is fun!"  
  
"Do you want to kill him or should I?" growled Ron. Hermione only grunted.  
  
As the students completed the three laps, they collapsed in piles on the grass, ignoring the dew soaking through their clothes. Slayt looked around at the mounds of students scattered over the pitch. "Next running session is the day after tomorrow!" she called out. Seamus groaned. "Wear appropriate clothes and be here at eight P.M.!"  
  
One by one, the students picked themselves up off the ground, grunting and groaning. Slayt watched them with a smile as they made their way inside.  
  
  
  
It wasn't until late November that Severus visited Damia in her quarters again.  
  
"Damia? Damia, I know you're there. Let me in."  
  
"Go away, Severus."  
  
"No."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I want to talk to you."  
  
_

"I'm not your friend anymore, Severus."  
  
"That sounded incredibly petty. And you know full well that I don't particularly care."  
  
A snort. "Of course you don't. Why should I expect anything else from you? You never did care about much."  
  
"That was harsh, Damia."  
  
"But well deserved."  
  
"Can you at least let me in? I hate arguing through a door."  
  
She opened the door, and quickly closed it. "I opened the door. Now go away."  
  
"Don't be childish, Damia. It doesn't suit you."  
  
A sigh. "Fine then. It's unlocked. Come in."  
  
He slid through the door, and closed it behind him. "How are the students taking your training?"  
  
"Like students. With a lot of complaining, melodrama, and claims that it's useless. Let's see how useless it is when they're facing a Dark Mage without their wand."  
  
"Some seem to like it."  
  
"Harry Potter." She said the name angrily. "Is there anything that boy can't do?"  
  
"Not in the eyes of the public," Severus said, sitting down in one of her armchairs as she stood at her counter, watching a vial of bubbling solution and making notes on a scrap of parchment. "What is that you're doing?"  
  
"An experiment."  
  
"Obviously. You're far too obstinate, Damia."  
  
"You're far too annoying, Severus."  
  
"I would think I was far too sarcastic as well."  
  
"That also. At the moment, merely annoying."  
  
"Are you going to tell me what that experiment is?"  
  
She laid down the quill she was using on the table and put out the tiny fire heating the vial with a flick of her wand. Turning to face him, she said with a sigh, "If it works, this potion will be part of a ritual also involving a charm."  
  
"And what will this ritual do?"  
  
"If it works, it will act as a more precise form of the magic in the Knife of Hephaestus."  
  
Severus sat up as though he had been shot; his face went pale. "The Knife of Hephaestus?" he asked, astonished.  
  
"I wouldn't think you'd be so surprised," she snapped irritatedly. "You know what my work is."  
  
"Yes, but I never thought you'd manage this!" he said, then calmed down. "It seems that, once again, I've underestimated you, Damia."  
  
"A bad habit, Severus. You should fix that."  
  
He snorted. "I would, had I the time. And speaking of time, it seems I've run out of it. I must get back to my potion. This one may explode if left unattended for too long."  
  
"Goodbye then, Severus," she said blandly. He stood, and Damia picked up her quill again, ready to resume her work. But she stopped as he took hold of her wrist.  
  
She looked up, and he was far too close for her comfort. She felt his breath move her hair when he spoke. "I'm not giving up on you, Damia," he said. Then he turned and swept out of the room, leaving Damia leaning against the counter, composure rattled and experiment completely forgotten.   
  
  
  
Slayt was waiting for them when the fifth year Gryffindors arrived at their class that Thursday morning. "Take out your textbooks," she ordered as soon as they were all settled. "Page one hundred and twelve."  
  
Harry pulled out his book and opened it up to the correct page. At the very top was a photograph; a single object lying against a background of red velvet. It was a knife. Not a very fancy knife; in fact, it wasn't remarkable in any way. A simple steel blade attached to a polished wooden handle. He looked at the caption at the bottom, but it wasn't very helpful. The only thing it said was "The Knife of Hephaestus".  
  
"The Knife of Hephaestus," Slayt said, startling Harry, and bringing him back to reality. "It is a tool that was once used by Merlin himself, or so it is rumored. The reason we are studying the Knife is because of the unique magic it possesses: the Knife has the power to cut through the barriers between worlds." A murmur rose up among the class: most had never heard of the Knife of Hephaestus. "Naturally, the Ministry has hold of it, and keeps it under very---" she sneered "---close watch." She moved around to the front of her desk, as she liked to do when beginning a lecture.  
  
"The Knife is said to have been created by the Greek god Hephaestus, the god of smithing and crafts. The Knife has powers other than simply creating doorways between universes. The Knife's power is to cut those things that do not exist in physical form: barriers between worlds, thoughts, emotions. One Dark Mage who held the Knife during the Dark Ages created for himself an entire army of zombies: he cut away their free will with the Knife. A witch who was spurned by the man she loved used the Knife to cut away his love for another woman."  
  
"Jealous much?" Ron whispered. No one laughed, and Slayt threw him a frosty look.  
  
"But, in the physical world," Slayt continued, "the Knife is useless. It will not cut anything of matter, not even something so soft as butter."  
  
Hermione, pausing her frantic scribbling of notes for a moment, raised her hand. "Professor, when was the Knife created?"  
  
Slayt seemed to look past Hermione. "Nobody is quite sure. The Knife resists all magical testing, and due to prejudice at the Ministry, no one is willing to use Muggle methods. All that is known is that it is at least as old as King Arthur and the city of Camelot, which, for those of you who did not know, did exist."  
  
The bell rang. The Gryffindors grabbed their bags and leapt for the door, but Slayt called out; "Potter, a word."  
  
Listlessly, Harry grabbed his bag and stepped through the door to Slayt's office. She motioned for him to sit in one of the chairs facing her desk, and she sat behind it, pulling a paper out of a drawer.  
  
"Now, Potter," she began. "I wanted to talk to you about your essay on bidimensional doorways. You had some interesting theories, and I wanted to ask you about how you explain yourself. This point here, about getting the right world. Explain it to me."  
  
Harry opened his mouth to begin to speak, when a fire roared to life next to him, and Snape's head popped through. "Damia, I need your help," Snape said. "Some fool Hufflepuff mixed his potion wrong and poisoned his classmates. I can't leave them, will you be so kind as to ask Madam Pomfrey for her all-purpose antidote?"  
  
Slayt rose. "Certainly, Severus." She turned to Harry. "Wait right here," she told him. "I will be back in just a moment." Snape's head disappeared from the fire, and Slayt swept out of the room. Harry was left sitting in the empty office.  
  
He began to whistle, to pass the time. Unfortunately, he couldn't whistle, and so, after a few minutes, gave up. He began looking around the room, and, to his surprise, saw a bowl he knew very well. Standing up, he looked closer. Yes, it was a Pensieve, filled with silvery thoughts. Without thinking about what he was doing, Harry stuck a finger into the bowl and was instantly sucked into a memory.  
  
_September 1st, 1971__  
**********  
  
He seemed to be standing among a large group of people. Looking around him, he realized where they were. They were all standing in front of the Sorting Hat, in the Great Hall. With a jolt, he realized he must be in the memory of Professor Slayt's sorting. He looked around and, sure enough, standing just an inch to his right, was Professor Slayt, only eleven years old. Her face was set, and she seemed to be watching two redheads a short distance away from her. One was tall, with flaming hair and a face covered in freckles. The other was shorter, her hair a darker shade of red, and she had bright green eyes. With a shock, he realized he was looking at his mother, when she was only eleven years old. He wished desperately that Slayt would go and talk to her.  
  
The sorting started. Sirius was the first of the people he knew, and the hat instantly proclaimed him a Gryffindor. Sirius played to the crowd of students, blowing them kisses and grinning cheekily until McGonagall dragged him away. Next was his mother, with the last name Evans.  
  
Funny, he thought. I never knew what her maiden name was. The hat took longer to decide with her, but she was a Gryffindor, along with Lupin, his father, and Pettigrew. He snarled as Pettigrew put on the hat, who laughed merrily as it announced him a Gryffindor. The boy grinning so happily looked nothing like a person who would one day come to kill his best friend.  
  
Then the name, "Slayt, Armina!"  
  
__Armina?__ Who is Armina? Professor Slayt's first name is Damia, isn't it? The tall redheaded girl who had been chatting so casually with his mother stepped up to the hat, and turned to smile at the black-haired girl next to Harry, the one who would someday be his Defense teacher, giving her a quick thumbs up. The girl sat on the stool, and the hat covered her flaming hair.  
  
The hat took a few minutes with the redheaded girl, who seemed to become worried, more so with each passing moment. Finally, it made its decision. "GRYFFINDOR!" it called out. To his right, Slayt's face fell. The redheaded girl, Armina, stood up with a grin as the Gryffindors applauded. Then, she met her sister's eyes. Armina looked away, ashamed, before sitting at the Gryffindor table.  
  
"Slayt, Damia!" The black haired girl stepped up to the stool. Her face showed nothing, but Harry saw her hands were shaking. Suddenly, as she pulled the hat onto her head, it was as if he was underneath the hat with her.  
  
"Well, well," the hat whispered into Slayt's ear. Harry heard it perfectly, although he was not quite sure how. "Another one? Your sister was quite hard to place, you know. Who she was, fighting against who she felt like she had to be."  
  
"Will she be happy?" Slayt whispered. Harry was surprised to hear her ask the hat out loud. Most students preferred to think at the hat rather than talk to it.  
  
"Oh, yes, quite so, I believe. But it's not your twin that we are working on right now, it's you, my dear. Now, where to put you? Not Hufflepuff, certainly. You'd die of boredom there. Not Gryffindor. You're much too secretive, and although you know the right thing, it's not often that you choose it. Ravenclaw, perhaps? No, that's not right. Slytherin, then. Yes, Slytherin would be excellent for you."  
  
"I __am a Slayt," she whispered back.  
  
"Yes, yes, but I never like taking blood into account. Slytherin then? Yes, the perfect house for you. SLYTHERIN!"  
  
Slayt rose, with a small smile. The Slytherins clapped, while the other houses glared at the new Slytherin. Harry followed Slayt as she sat down at the Slytherin table. A moment later, she was joined by a boy, with long, lank black hair and glittering dark eyes.  
  
"Hello, Damia," he said.  
  
"Severus," she replied. "Glad of your company."  
  
"Since Armina's in Gryffindor." Slayt winced, and opened her mouth to speak, when the world around Harry turned blurry, and slowly went black.  
__  
__December 4th, 1995__  
**********  
  
When the world returned to focus, Harry saw, standing over him, Professor Slayt. She looked more emotional than he had ever seen her. Her eyes were blazing, her mouth was twisted into an expression of terror, and even her normally pale skin had flushed. His shoulder hurt where she gripped it.  
  
"What did you see?" she hissed. Harry looked at her in shock, and she shook him roughly. "What did you see?"  
  
"N-nothing," he stammered. "A memory of your Sorting, when you were in Hogwarts, nothing else!"  
  
Slowly, her skin returned to its normal color, and she blinked. He rubbed his shoulder, sure there would be a bruise there come morning. "It's incredibly rude to pry into someone else's life, Potter," she said emptily. "Thirty points from Gryffindor." Harry winced. "Now get out."  
  
Harry grabbed his bag and ran._


	3. III

**Title: Harry Potter and the Knife of Hephaestus (3/??)**

**Author Name: Aradia Ring**

**Category:  Action/Adventure, Mystery**

**Keywords: Slayt, Snape, Knife of Hephaestus**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Spoilers: All**

**Summary: Harry's fifth year may prove to be the most dangerous of all--- and not just for him. An ancient object holds incredible power, and blood becomes more important than ever before. There's a question around every corner, along with memories of the past that some people would rather not be brought up. The new DADA teacher may hold the key to the mystery, but the question is, will she give it?**

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. So beat it.

(A/N)- Boo-boo in Chapter Two: Damia spent thirteen years living in America, but only three living as a Muggle. The first ten years, she lived in the wizarding world, but in America. Got it? Good! On with the fic!

                "It was strange," Harry said to Hermione. "It was like she had something to hide, the way she got so worked up about me looking in her Pensieve."

                "I'll bet she was hiding something," Ron said. "I think we should find out as much as we can about her."

                Hermione refused to believe that Slayt was anything to worry about. "Honestly, Harry invaded her privacy! Would you like someone poking around at your memories?"

                Harry flushed. "Well, it doesn't matter," Ron said determinedly. "I'm going to break into her office tonight. I'll use her Pensieve, and see what she's trying to hide."

                Harry looked a little unsure of this plan. "I don't know, Ron. D'you really think Professor Slayt's a Death Eater?"

                Ron shook his head. "I don't know. But I'm going to find out."

                Harry's mouth set. "Then I'm going to help you."

                Hermione looked uneasy, but, after a moment, she nodded reluctantly. "I suppose I'll go too then. It's not like I have much of a choice."

                "Ron, watch your elbows!"

                "Sorry!"

                The voices came from nothing, an empty patch of air . That is, empty if you couldn't see Invisibility Cloaks. Underneath the cloak were Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all fighting for space. The cloak, which had been so easy for three people to fit under back in their first year, was now rather cramped for three fifth years. Every so often, a toe, or an elbow would pop out of nowhere. But, somehow, they managed to make it to the Defense classroom and into Slayt's office without being caught.

                "Finally!" Ron gasped, as they threw off the cloak. Hermione shushed him, and Harry pointed to the Pensieve.

                "Look," he said. "It's over there." He raised an arm and pointed at the large bowl. Hermione stepped over to the countertop and lifted the bowl, bringing it back to where the other two were standing.

                The three looked at each other for a moment, unsure as to what to do. Finally, Harry exhaled loudly. "Well," he said, "shall we do it, then?" The words broke the silence. Ron nodded firmly, Hermione less so. But, as one, they each stuck a single finger into the bowl.

                _December 28th, 1973___

_**********_

_                A group of people was standing by a giant fire, suspended over a stone slab. Through the flames, Harry could just make out a shape, although he couldn't tell what it was. The two girls closest to where Harry, Hermione, and Ron were standing looked about thirteen. One of them was Professor Slayt, younger. _

                Hermione gripped his arm. "Harry---" she said, hesitatingly, not looking at him, but rather, at the other girl, the one who wasn't Slayt. "Isn't that--- your mother?"

                "Yeah," Harry said, not taking his eyes off her. Ron watched, openmouthed.

                Slayt stared into the flames. "Gods, I don't know," she whispered. "Armina--- I'm going to---" She broke off, and stared into the fire.

                Harry's mother rubbed her eyes, They were red and wet; she had been crying. Hesitantly, Slayt raised a hand, then put it down.

                Lily Evans sniffed, turned to Slayt, and said, "You're Armina's sister, Damia?"

                Slayt stared straight ahead. "Yes."

                Lily looked uncomfortable. "I know Armina and you kind of... live in different worlds at school--"

                "You could say that," Slayt sneered. Lily didn't seem put off in the slightest. Rather, she looked determined to be nice to Damia.

                "I know I never really talked to you before, but Armina really loves you.... she talks about you all the time..."

                "Armina is dead, Lily," Slayt said harshly, and Lily winced. "She is gone. She does not talk about me any more."

                "I know she's gone," Lily said softly. "It doesn't mean I believe it."

                Slayt turned to her. "Armina used to say the exact same thing," she said, her voice equally soft. The two girls stared at each other for a moment, then both turned back to the flames, watching them in a comfortable, if sad, silence.

                "Who's Armina?" asked Ron, not taking his eyes off Slayt.

                "I think she was Professor Slayt's twin sister," Harry replied, glancing away from his mother for a moment. "They looked absolutely nothing alike, though. And---" he was cut off as the world around him blurred, and slowly faded into a new memory.

_February 9th, 1975___

_**********_

_                Lily was sitting in History of Magic; at the desk next to her sat Slayt. Both girls looked bored to tears. After a moment, Lily reached over and poked Slayt in the arm._

                "Hey, Damia, how'd you like your birthday gift?"

                Slayt looked uncomfortable. "It was nice, Lily, it really was. Thanks again, I know I'll use it a lot."

                "You've got no idea what they are, do you."

                "Not a clue." Slayt cracked a slight smile, and Lily laughed softly.

                "They're roller skates, Mia! And Muggle clothes! You have to come over to my house sometime this summer, we'll go out to a club, and I'll teach you to dance..."

                Slayt had been smiling slightly throughout this, but, when Lily mentioned going to her house, Slayt's face fell. "I don't think my father would let me, Lily. He's very strict about that sort of thing."

                "He doesn't like Muggle culture, does he."

                "Never let it be said Damien Slayt is anything but a bigot." She snorted. "The way he acts is the disgrace to the family name, not my association with Muggle-borns. No decent Slayt is prejudiced like that; our family has always respected magic, whoever it appears in. He might as well be a Malfoy." Both girls shuddered, as the memory again faded away.

                _October 7th, 1976___

_**********_

_                The world came back into focus in what the trio recognized as the Hogwarts library, empty. Except for a table in the back of the room, where seven people were sitting. Harry recognized his mother and father, arms slung over each other's shoulders, sitting by Sirius, Lupin (who had his arm around a pretty girl with dark brown curls they didn't know), Slayt, and, much to the dismay of the three friends, Pettigrew._

                "Sirius, where's Jeanette?" James Potter asked his friend.

                Sirius looked disgruntled. "Off with that Ravenclaw seventh year. What does she see in him?"

                "The fact that he's not you?" Slayt said innocently, and the others roared with laughter.

                "Funny, Damia," Sirius said acidly.

                She raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I thought so."

                "Speaking of significant others not in attendance," the unknown girl, who was in Ravenclaw colors, piped up. "Damia, where's the object of your affections?"

                "Hospital wing, Roxanne," Slayt said. "Someone---" she shot a nasty glance at Sirius--- "thought it would be funny to time-transfigure his pillow into a rock. He was sleeping with it on top of his head." The others snickered, until she shot them the same glance Sirius had gotten.

                "Oh, lighten up," James said, rolling his eyes and looking irritated. "You have no sense of humor."

                "Don't say that about my best friend!" Lily cried, poking James in the ribs and laughing. "You didn't know her when she really _did have no sense of humor. Now, she actually jokes! And laughs!"_

                "I can also smile," Slayt added.

                Hermione turned away from the memory conversation. "Did you know Professor Slayt was your mum's best friend?" Harry shook his head mutely.

                Ron watched the former generation laugh and talk, with a small smile on his face. "I didn't know Professor Slayt had a sense of humor."

                Harry turned back to watch his parents and their friends. Only now there were two Slayts. One was sixteen, sitting and laughing with her friends. The other was thirty-five and furious.  She stood over them, not making a sound, as the three Gryffindors looked at each other in terror. With a quick snap of her fingers, all four emerged into the real world once again.

_December 5th, 1994___

_**********_

                Professor Slayt's face was pale, and her eyes glittered with fury. "Granger, Weasley, and---" she growled--- "Potter. I punished you once for doing this, and not only do you come back and do it again, with friends, but you do it in the very same day." Her voice was tight, controlled, and very, very dangerous.

                She looked them over. "If you will insist on spending your free time prying into the past of teachers, I think you have too much free time. Detention. For three weeks. Every night. Seperately." They all winced. "And fifty points from Gryffindor." She whisked the Pensieve away, and set it in a cabinet, closing and locking the door. Harry noticed she was in her nightdress, and her feet were bare.

                She turned and looked back at them. "I cannot tell you what a foolish thing to do that was. Now get out of my sight before I decide to make it three month's detention and a hundred points."

                They ran.

                Damia collapsed into her armchair in her room, her head in her hands. "Oh, heavens above," she whispered. "Oh, all things of power.... I know what they were looking at..." She lifted her head. "Lily? Armina? Are you listening to me? Lily, I'll try to be good to your son, you know I will, but it's so hard... you two are still open wounds for me..."

                She trailed off as Icicle jumped into her lap, purring loudly. She set a hand on the cat's head, stroking lightly. Icicle meowed. "Yes," Damia said. "I know. I try. But they just...." She made a noise of complete frustration and let an angry tear trickle down her cheek. Icicle meowed again, and Damia looked at the cat in astonishment. "No! It's two in the morning! And anyway, it's silly." The cat looked at her. "I'm not crying," Damia sniffed elegantly, rubbing her cheek. She looked at the ceiling. "Why is it, that here or not, they can still both make me completely lose any speck of image or reputation I may have had?"

                A knock on the door sounded, startling her. Why on Earth was there someone there at two in the morning? A sharp voice sounded from the other side of the door, answering her question.

                "Damia? Are you awake?"

                She sighed. "Yes, Severus. Come in."

                He pushed open the door and strode into the room. He was fully dressed, something Damia found amusing, for some reason. He closed the door behind him and sat down.

                "I'm sorry," he said, not sounding very sorry at all. "Something woke me up and told me to get dressed and come see you. I don't know what, but I was not inclined to ignore it."

                "Infernal cat," Damia muttered, as Icicle began to wash herself, a little too innocently.

                "Did something happen?" he asked, leaning forward in his chair and eyeing both Damia and Icicle.

                Damia let out a breath. "Potter, Granger, and Weasley broke into my office and looked at my Pensieve." He raised an eyebrow. "It brought up far too many memories. And if you ask me whether I want to talk about it, you will regret it."

                He stood up. "Damia, I am a teacher, not a therapist. I do not particularly care whether you want to talk or not, and, if you do, I suggest you find another person."

                She sneered. "Ah, such a caring member of the staff. I'm sure the children just flock to you to tell you their woes."

                He said, "If it weren't so early, and you had not just been subjected to having the past drug up and kicked about, I would be appalled at that statement. As it is, I know you are not at your mental best, and shall forgive you. I'll see you in the morning, then, Damia." She watched lazily as he swept out of the room, and then looked down at the cat in her lap.

                "I hope you're happy," she said to her. "You woke him up, dragged him in here, and made us talk. And a nasty conversation it was." Icicle shrugged, and Damia rolled her eyes. "Cats." She pushed Icicle off her lap and stood, ready to go back to bed.

                Harry, Ron, and Hermione tumbled through the portrait hole, winding up in a tangle of arms and legs on the floor. Harry was grateful that the common room was empty, and there was no one there to see them. Untangling themselves (Ron's face rather red), all three stood up, and looked at each other. Harry suddenly felt very tired.

                "Let's go see Hagrid in the morning," he said dully. "We'll talk about it then." He turned away, not quite looking at them. "But for now," he finished, "I'm tired." Ignoring the gazes he could feel on his back, he walked up the stairs to his dormitory. Right now, all he wanted was sleep. Answers could wait until morning.

                But they couldn't. Or, more accurately, wouldn't. Professor Slayt's secondhand memories ran through Harry's head like an endless film. He saw his father teasing his mother, and her laughing. He saw Professor Slayt needling a grumpy Sirius, as everyone else sat and laughed.

                _She was such a nice person back then, he thought. __Why is she so cold now? And, with another thought, he sat straight up in his bed. __And she was such close friends with my mum--- she could tell me about her. I know plenty about my dad, but no one's ever told me about my mum. Maybe she has things that used to belong to her... things that I could have..._

_                 It was a long time before Harry could fall asleep that night._


	4. IV

**Title: Harry Potter and the Knife of Hephaestus (4/??)**

**Author Name: Aradia Ring**

**Author Email: DragonGirl917@aol.com**

**Category:  Action/Adventure, Mystery**

**Keywords: Slayt, Snape, Knife of Hephaestus**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Spoilers: All**

**Summary: Harry's fifth year may prove to be the most dangerous of all--- and not just for him. An ancient object holds incredible power, and blood becomes more important than ever before. There's a question around every corner, along with memories of the past that some people would rather not be brought up. The new DADA teacher may hold the key to the mystery, but the question is, will she give it?**

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. So bug off.

Harry spent the next day anxiously awaiting the end of classes. Of course, as time will do when one is waiting for something, the day seemed to stretch out indefinitely. When Snape took twenty points from Gryffindor for Harry's watching the clock, and neglecting to watch his potion (which bubbled over and made Seamus's feet sprout feathers) , Hermione elbowed him. "Stop it!" she whispered fiercely. "That's not going to help. My mum always says 'a watched pot never boils'."

"This isn't a pot, Hermione," Ron said, confused. "It's a cauldron." Hermione rolled her eyes.

"It's a phrase, Ron," she muttered, going back to her own perfect potion.

Lunch was no better. Harry sat the entire time staring at Professor Slayt, who, if she noticed, ignored him. For the life of him, Harry couldn't understand how his mother had been such good friends with the cold, blunt, Defense teacher. Perhaps she had been more… human… when she was younger, but Harry had his doubts. He just thanked the heavens that Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't on his schedule today.

Herbology was right after lunch that day. Harry sat in his usual place, between Ron and Justin Finch-Fletchley, who smiled and nodded in greeting. As Professor Sprout cleared her throat, the two turned back to the lesson.

"Today," Sprout began, "We will be looking at the Veriflormas plant." She held up a pot containing a rather ugly plant, with leaves that were somewhere between purple, gray, and green. At the very top was a hideously bright flower with neon orange petals and a bright blue center. It was large, lurid, and something Gilderoy Lockhart would undoubtedly love.

"The Veriflormas plant is, like many others, unknown to Muggles," Sprout said as she passed out the cuttings they would be working with. "It--- Hannah, be careful. You don't want to get any of the pollen, or actually any bit of the plant at all in your mouth." Hannah Abbot, who had been just about to put a papercut finger in her mouth, jerked her hand away from her face.

"Why?" She asked curiously, although keeping the hand far from her face. Sprout sighed.

"The Veriflormas is both highly dangerous and highly beneficial," she began, sounding very much as though she was reciting from the textbook (as indeed she was). "In small doses, mixed with monkshood, it is a powerful sedative. In larger doses, it is a mind-altering herb. It is used in truth potions, and love potions, as both need to alter the state of mind of the drinker. In large doses, it is highly fatal."

"How does it kill?" asked Anna "Pidge" Watson, a petite blond with a love of dangly earrings and an unusual and most unHufflepuffish morbid streak.

Sprout looked grim. "The potion it makes, or just essence of Veriflormas, is not pleasant. First, one's throat seizes up, so the victim can't breathe. Next come muscle spasms, without warning, so the victim's hands are usually at their throat, and they rip their own skin to shreds. The next step is hallucinations. The victim can breathe again, but they think that there are large amounts of insects, worms, and rats trying to crawl down their throats. The victim sometimes chokes on their own tongue during this stage. Finally, the blood in the victim's veins clots and expands. All the veins rupture, and the victim slowly, and painfully bleeds to death." She looked around at the sea of wide eyes and open mouths. "It was widely used during the time before You-Know-Who disappeared."

Harry looked down at the innocuous seeming plant lying in his lap, and shuddered.

He was forced to suffer through Charms and Transfiguration as well before the three were free to visit Hagrid. Quickly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione ran up the stairs and corridors to Gryffindor Tower to get rid of their bags before they made their way down to Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid was making tea as they knocked on the door, and moved around the kitchen in a large, frilly pink apron as they all talked. 

Harry wasted no time. "Why didn't you ever tell us Professor Slayt was friends with my mum?" he demanded, as Hagrid casually pulled a plate of rock cakes out of a cupboard.

                "Yeh never asked," was the answer. Harry snorted, while Hermione and Ron glanced at each other in the background. Hermione mouthed something to Ron that Harry couldn't make out, and Ron nodded in agreement.

                "I didn't think I'd have to ask!" Harry yelled. Hagrid looked at him, and he blushed. "Sorry," he mumbled, and Hagrid smiled.

                "Yer mum and Damia were close," he told Harry. To his left, Harry saw Hermione elbow Ron and whisper something into his ear. Ron nodded. With a surprising amount of tact, Ron stood and quietly left, Hermione following him. As they closed the door behind them, Hagrid continued. "Like sisters. Yeh see, they both 'ad trouble with their own sisters. Yeh know yer mum and yer aunt never got alon', and Damia's sister died young. Lily and Damia met, and they didn' get along too well at firs', but yer mum worked really 'ard to bring Damia out o' her shell. They were grea' friends by th' time they left."

                "Professor Slayt's sister..." Harry asked curiously. "Her name was Armina? How did she die?"

                Hagrid looked at him sharply, something Harry wasn't used to. Hagrid was usually quite easy to get information out of; all you had to do was get him relaxed, and it would just slip out. "I can' tell yeh that, Harry. It's Damia's business, not yers." He sighed nostalgically. "Yer mum and Damia were great friends, Harry," he told him. "Different as nigh' an' day, though. Yer mum was always laughin' an' Damia's always been so serious. Yer mum was caring, always sympathetic. Damia was a little... ruthless with people."

                "What d'you mean?" Harry asked curiously.

                "Well..." Hagrid cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Damia had a lot o' boyfriends in school. Yer godfather, fer one."

                Harry was surprised to hear Hagrid speak of Sirius without his usual loathing. "D'you know about Sirius? Being innocent?"

                "O' course I do," he said. "Dumbledore tol' me las' summer. All the teachers know now." He chuckled. "Professor Snape didn' take it too well."

                Harry pushed the conversation back to the original topic. "But Sirius and Professor Slayt dated? When? Why? For how long?" He was a bit worried--- What if Sirius got his name cleared and decided to contact Slayt again? He didn't think Slayt liked Harry very much, the situation would be very awkward.

                "Yeah, they did.  In their seventh year, here at Hogwarts. It didn' las' too long, but they parted on good terms. Here, I saved a picture." Standing up and fishing around in his cupboards, he pulled out a battered slip of paper. It showed two teenage girls in dresses that looked as though they cost a small fortune, sitting on the hood of a lime-green Volkswagen. One was obviously Lily Potter, with bright green eyes and red hair. The other, with glossy black hair, must have been Damia Slayt, although she didn't look it. Sitting in front of them was a sixteen year old Sirius Black, calmly sipping a giant milkshake as the two girls arranged his hair in many tiny braids.

Hagrid glanced up at the clock and stood up. "I gotta go see the Headmaster, Harry. The wyverns've caught some disease." The Care of Magical Creatures class had been studying the pack of overgrown, winged serpents for the past few weeks. Harry had kept a far distance; wyverns didn't speak Parseltongue. "I'll walk with yeh up to th' castle."

                They walked up through the snow lying a few inches deep to the castle, Hagrid chattering happily away about how the alpha female of the wyvern pack had just laid eggs. Harry listened halfheartedly. It had just occurred to him, that while he knew about all his father's old friends and what they had done, no one had ever told him about his mother's friends. Everyone had always told him that he was just like his father. Wasn't there a part of him, other than his eyes, that was like his mother? He rubbed his eyes self-consciously, not noticing that Hagrid seemed to have asked him a question.

                "W-what? Oh, yes, I agree." Hagrid seemed placated, and continued his rambling until they reached the Fat Lady. "Well, I'll see you later, then," Harry said, trying not to seem like he was trying to get rid of Hagrid. He cheerfully waved goodbye, and Harry climbed through the portrait.

                Inside, the common room was in a (mild) uproar. Little groups were scattered everywhere, heads bent close together and whispering. Ron was sitting in an armchair in front of the fire, staring straight ahead, looking like a man about to be executed. On either side of him, Fred and George looked as though they were trying very hard not to tease him about something. As soon as they saw Harry, they left, most likely to go make fun of Ron behind his back.

                Harry flopped down in an armchair facing Ron. "What's going on?" he asked. "Did something happen?" Ron turned his head slightly to look at him, with a desperate look in his eyes. "What happened?" Harry asked, beginning to get a little worried. "Is someone hurt?" Looking around, he noticed who was missing. "Where's Hermione? Is she okay?"

                "Oh, everyone's fine," Ron said. "Hermione is... I think she's up in her dormitory. I kind of lost track of where she went."

                "What happened?" Harry asked again. He was getting frustrated with Ron's elusive answers.

                "Well," Ron began, looking a little angry now. "We were coming back up from Hagrid's, and we started talking about something, I think it had to do with Professor Slayt, and we started arguing about it." Harry groaned. He'd hoped Ron and Hermione had worked out their fights over the summer. Apparently not. "Anyway, we got into the common room, and we were still arguing. I guess we were pretty loud."

                "Ron, what did you say?" Harry asked, half-amused, half-annoyed.

                "Nothing, that's the problem," Ron replied confusingly. "Fred and George started yelling at me to shut her up, they were trying to--- write an order form or something, I guess. And anyway, I heard them yelling at me to shut her up, then Hermione got really nasty, and she dared me to try and shut her up---"

                "What did you do, Ron?" Harry asked again, a little alarmed now.

                "Ikissedher," Ron said, very fast and in a very low voice. Harry heard it anyway.

                "You WHAT?" he choked. The common room dissolved into giggles.

                "I kissed her," Ron said again, more slowly. "And she looked at me, and--- I dunno, she looked like she had just been kissed by Malfoy, and she ran away."

                "Wow... um... that's..." Harry tried to find some bit of advice for Ron, and failed miserably. "Look, d'you want me to go talk to her?"

                "I guess..."

                "Well... um... all right then." Morosely, he heaved himself out of his chair and headed for the stairway to the girl's dormitories, wondering all the while why Ron and Hermione couldn't just admit they liked each other and get it over with.

                Lavender and Parvati were standing outside the closed dormitory door. "Hermione," Lavender called. "What are you doing?" A loud crash emanated from inside.

                "I'm venting," she called back out. "I'll tell you when I'm done."

                "Harry!" Parvati gasped, seeing him. "You're not supposed to be up here!"

                "I just need to talk to Hermione," he said. "You don't mind, do you?" They shook their heads, and he knocked on the door.

                "Hey, Hermione? Can I come in?"

                "Of course, Harry," came the answer. "It's unlocked." He opened the door, and his eyes widened in shock. The room was a total mess. Shards of broken pottery were mixed in with ripped cloth and spilled powders and liquids. In the center of the room, like the heart of a tornado, stood Hermione. She looked not in the least upset. Until she picked up a vase and threw it at the wall. Water, flowers, and shards of glass fell onto the carpet.

                "Hermione--- are you mad at Ron?"

                "Very. I just find it easier to break objects, rather than his skull."

                "Why are you mad at him?" Of all the possible emotions, Harry had not expected her to be mad.

                "Because I didn't want things to get complicated," she said, a little heatedly. "I liked our friendship, and whenever I thought that maybe I liked Ron as a little more than a friend, I just tried to ignore it, or tell myself friendship was better than romance." Harry felt a little uncomfortable, but Hermione continued, oblivious. "All I wanted to do was get good grades, and have fun, and try to keep you alive until next year. And now this complication."

                "Do you like him, like that, Hermione?" Harry asked cautiously when she stopped for breath.

                "Yes, of course I do, that's the whole problem," she replied confusingly. "The point is, while I liked him but didn't know if he liked me, I could ignore it and just get on with life. But now that I know he likes me, something will have to be done." She looked around the room, as if seeing the mess for the first time. "I feel much better," she declared, dusting off her hands. Then, suddenly, she was very businesslike. "Come on, Harry," she said, leaving the room. Harry followed her, wondering what on earth was going on.

                He followed her out past an amazed Lavender and Parvati, down the stairs, and into the common room, which erupted into whispers again upon seeing her. Ron sank down in his chair, going very red.

                Hermione knew just what she was doing, though. Without missing a beat, she marched straight over to Ron, grabbed him by the front of his robes, and kissed him.

                The common room exploded into cheers like a volcano. Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet sent up sparks with their wands, while the Weasley twins whooped. Lilac Madderson threw her hat into the air, and a moment later, the air was filled with hats.

                "WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?" The Gryffindor students froze. At the portrait hole stood Professor McGonagall, white-lipped with rage. She surveyed the students, who were too shocked to move. Except for two. In the middle of it all stood Ron and Hermione, oblivious to the rest of the proceedings, still kissing.

                Inexplicably, McGonagall's face softened. Without a word, she turned and went straight back out the portrait hole. All the Gryffindors stood silently for a moment, staring at the space McGonagall had just left. Then, with a whoop, Angelina Johnson Summoned a radio, and the party started in full swing, with Ginny and a few of her friends playing deejay and the twins disappearing for some time, only to return with their arms full of food.

                And in the middle of it all, oblivious to everything else, Ron and Hermione stood, still kissing.

This chapter has now ended.

(A/N) Oh, I'm a real softie, aren't I? Letting Ron and Hermione get together. R/H shippers, enjoy it. This is about all you're gonna get. And Sprout's tougher than everyone gives her credit for, neh? And by the way, sorry this chapter took so long. It was too short, twice, so I had to keep adding stuff in. But remind me to thank the Schnoogle people: if I hadn't had to rewrite it, this would be a chapter of total fluff, and I would have missed out on getting the idea for a great (or so I think) addition! Thank you!

And review bumph:

**Clepsydra_Delphinus: Damia is not a MS. She scored way, way too low on the MS test to be one (for those of you who wonder, I found the Mary Sue test in Society for the Protection of Misunderstood Slytherins, in FictionAlley Park). And not a word about her dating Sirius. All I know is that Damia popped into my head, saw the mental image of Sirius, and went "Damn, he's _hot!" And then demanded that I hook her up with him. Hey, who am I to refuse? I'm just the lowly writer. And I know there wasn't much in this chapter, but trust me, there will be much more mystery and much less fluff in the next chapter._**

**Winged Dragon: Shove it. You know where. (To everyone else: I am allowed to talk to her like this, I'm her friend. Ya, ya, I know, Hayley, "Friend is too strong a word.")**

**Roxy: Ha, aren't you lucky? Do you look like my Roxanne? Or was that a really weird coincidence? And sorry, but this chapter's even shorter. The next one is longer, don't worry. And that's one of the reasons, but not the only one. Damia's got plenty.**

**Opaleye****: Thankee, thankee! You are a fabulous reviewer! Here's chapter four!**

One word: REVIEW!****


	5. V

Title: Harry Potter and the Knife of Hephaestus (05)  
  
Author name: Aradia Ring  
  
Category: Action/Adventure  
  
Sub Category: Mystery  
  
Keywords: Slayt Snape Knife of Hephaestus  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
  
Summary: Harry's fifth year may prove to be the most dangerous of all--- and not just for him. An ancient object holds incredible power, and blood becomes more important than ever before. There's a question around every corner, along with memories of the past that some people would rather not be brought up. The new DADA teacher may hold the key to the mystery, but the question is, will she give it?  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
News traveled fast around Hogwarts School. When Ron & Hermione walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts the next day, the entire class rose to their feet and gave them a standing ovation, one which was quickly silenced by Professor Slayt, a muscle twitching in her cheek. Everywhere they went, Ron and Hermione got grins, thumbs-up signs, and even the occasional lewd comment. Even Blaise Zabini, who was known for a few under-the-table dealings with Gryffindors (mainly the Weasley twins), approached them with a comment of her own. "Took ya long enough, eh?" Blaise said, picking up a young Hufflepuff sitting in the library seat across from Hermione and dumping her unceremoniously onto the ground. She was, to put it politely, a character. The school robes she wore were stylishly ripped, and just held together with safety pins, and she often wore Muggle jeans underneath her skirt. Her choice of shoes was usually a pair of well-shined, steel-toed combat boots. During her summers, she traveled anywhere and everywhere, so she had a new way of talking every term. This summer, she had gone to New York, and come back with a Brooklyn accent. "So, Hermione, ya gonna be Hermione Weasley, or Hermione Granger-Weasley?" Blaise asked, smacking the gum that even Professor Snape had been unsuccessful in getting out of her mouth. Although she wasn't the only Slytherin to talk to Gryffindors, she was the only one to use their first names. "We've only just--- gotten together!" Hermione sputtered angrily. "I'm not planning on marrying him!" "Best not to make him wait, girl," Blaise said, winking her catlike brown eyes. "My mam always said it was the quickest way to lose your fella." And with that, she sauntered away, leaving a wide eyed Hermione, bright red Ron, and quietly chuckling Harry behind her. "I wish they'd just leave us alone," Hermione complained to Harry a few days later in the Three Broomsticks. They were the only people in the small tavern, and Ron was off getting drinks. "I had Lisa Turpin come up to me in Arithmancy today, and she told me we won her thirty sickles. She was betting on my love life!" "Oh, lighten up, Hermione," Ron had returned, sliding an arm around Hermione's shoulders and a mug of butterbeer to Harry. "They don't mean any harm. And we did take long enough about it." Hermione grinned sheepishly. At that very moment, the door swung open. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked up guiltily: they had snuck out of the castle, and if they were caught, would be in deep trouble. Thankfully, it wasn't a teacher. Instead, it was three men, two with brown hair, one with black. The black haired man was obviously the leader of the group, the tallest, with blue-green eyes and an arrogant air about him. Ordering three drinks, he cast a nasty glance at the three students, but didn't seem to recognize any of them. Nervously, Harry flattened down his bangs. The men spoke quietly, but not quietly enough. "Why did you want to come here, Damien?" One of the brown-haired men asked. "Gods damn it, we don't use our names in public! Remember, Owl?" He sneered the last word, and the brown haired man, (who had unusually large eyes) winced slightly. "Fine. This code name idea is idiotic, though. Damn that ratty fellow... what's his name? Code names only come up in bad Muggle mystery novels." "And are you going to tell our Master that?" The other brown haired man spoke up. 'Owl' fell silent. "Hades, what did you need to tell us?" "I can use my... influence to help along our Master's plan. But I need someone to truly carry out the plan, my influence only goes so far." "Being a Slayt has its advantages, eh?" Owl smirked. "Quiet, you fool!" 'Hades' stood, enraged. The other man, who was still unnamed, looked equally furious. Madam Rosmerta looked up from where she was mixing a drink. The brown-haired man gave her a rather forced smile, and turned back to his companions. "For the last time, keep your voices down," he said angrily. "We can't have anyone finding out about our Master's plan. If this fails, we die." "Well, you two die, at least, Merlot," Hades smiled nastily. Merlot scowled. "I doubt our Master would kill me." "Yes, we know, Hades," Merlot said irritatedly. "We'll discuss that particular topic a bit later. In private. Speaking of which---" Merlot glanced at Harry, Ron, and Hermione suspiciously. They hadn't moved or spoken a word since the three men had entered. As Merlot glanced at them, they all turned away. "You three! There!" Hades said suspiciously. All three men drew their wands. "What are you looking at?" Harry and Ron couldn't move. Thankfully, Hermione's quick thinking saved them all. "Je suis désolé, je ne parle pas anglais," she said quickly. "Comprenez- vous le français ?" Hades's face lost its anger, and was quickly replaced with sickly sweetness. He replied in the same language, and Hermione answered smoothly. Harry and Ron were amazed. They had no idea what she was saying, but whatever it was, the three men were eating it up. Merlot said something, and from the tone of his voice it was a question. Hermione, again, answered easily. Then, with a gasp, she babbled something quickly, grabbed Ron's hand and Harry's, and dragged them out of the Three Broomsticks. Once safely away, she leaned against a wall, and breathed heavily. Ron and Harry looked at her in amazement. "What did you tell him?" Ron demanded. "And what language was that?" "French," Hermione answered, looking relieved to be away. "I told him that we didn't speak English, that I was Angelique Deruvarez and you were my cousins, Louis and Marquez, and we were from Paris, in France, and were visiting an aunt. Then that we had to go." "Wow," Ron said, admiringly. "I didn't know you spoke French, Hermione." She looked at him a bit scathingly. "Why d'you think I didn't like Fleur Delacour? I understood everything she said. Both the rude and the insulting." Ron continued without listening to her. "That's great. They believed you?" "I hope they did," Harry said, with feeling. "If they didn't, we're probably in some serious trouble." "We already are!" Hermione gasped, pulling her sleeve back down over her watch. "It's nine-thirty! I have to be back at the castle in half an hour to send the first-years to bed! Come on!" She set off at a run for Honeydukes, Ron and Harry lagging halfheartedly behind her. Harry wasn't quite sure how, but they managed to make it back to the castle and their common room without getting caught. As Hermione ushered the first- years up the stairs to their dormitory, Harry and Ron slumped into two chairs by the fire. Across from them sat Fred and George, heads together and very obviously plotting. "What's up?" Ron asked his brothers curiously. The twins looked up with expressions halfway between guilt and laughter. "What, are you writing more order forms?" "Nah, we've taken a break from that," George said dismissively. "We're working on a new prank, here." Harry raised his eyebrows. "Should I be very careful walking into the Great Hall tomorrow?" "No, but Mrs. Norris should watch her back," Fred grinned. George elbowed him. "I think I'd rather not know any more," Harry said decisively as Fred rubbed his ribcage. "I'm going to bed. Try not to kill Mrs. Norris, all right? Filch would never let you have a moment's peace." "Aye aye, Captain," George said with a mock salute. Ever since Harry had been voted captain of the Quidditch team, the twins had never missed an opportunity to tease him about his new rank. Rolling his eyes, Harry crossed the room to the boy's staircase, leaving three Weasleys snickering behind him. When Ron came up, Harry was already asleep. A group of people, robed and masked entirely in black, stood in a circle in the middle of a clearing. Cloaked and hooded, they were only barely visible. In the center of the circle stood one who was not masked. His face and hands, white as chalk, contrasted brilliantly with the darkness behind him and the darkness of his robes. "My friends," he called out, smiling cruelly. "Our plan is in action. Once the woman is in our possession, and her tool as well, I shall be more powerful than any wizard before me. Hades, come forth." One of the people in the circle stepped forward and kneeled before Voldemort. "Yes, my Lord?" he murmured. "Remove your mask." He did so. It was the man that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had seen in the Three Broomsticks, his hair slightly mussed, but otherwise looking no different. "You have begun the planning?" "Yes, my Lord. Damia Slayt will soon be allied to us. She cannot hold out forever." He smiled a tiny smile that was very familiar... "Excellent." Voldemort touched his chin with the tip of his wand, smirking slightly in a horrible parody of a daydreamer's expression. "And our other operation? How does that proceed?" "Excellently, as well, my Lord." "Perfect." Voldemort stopped, his face frozen in its expression. "My Lord?" Hades looked up. "What is it?" "Potter," Voldemort whispered the malice in his voice terrifying. "He is watching---" The Death Eaters murmured among themselves, until Voldemort waved a hand, and they were instantly silent. "Well," Voldemort laughed, "Let him watch. Let him try and stop this." He laughed. "Let him try." Harry woke up with a start, gasping. Quietly, he looked around the room, making sure no one else had woken up. To his surprise, Neville, Ron, Dean, and Seamus were all awake. They were still in their pajamas, creeping out of the room. Through the open door, Harry heard snatches of a voice. "Most irresponsible--- thoughtless, careless------ cruel---" Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Professor McGonagall, in the common room? Yelling? Harry jumped out of bed and joined his roommates, dream quickly forgotten in the face of this new event. The five boys crept down the stairs quietly, trying not to alert McGonagall to their presence. But, as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs, it was proved pointless, as most of Gryffindor house was already there. And, standing in the middle of the common room, were Fred and George Weasley. McGonagall stood in front of them, her face nearly purple with rage. "How do you explain this? I think that the Headmaster, and myself, have given you incredible leeway, what with the amount of mischief you've pulled. But now your pranks have killed!" She nearly screeched the last word, and the Gryffindors murmured excitedly. The three people in the center of the room ignored them all. "It was an accident," George murmured. "You could be expelled for this accident!" McGonagall yelled, not trying to contain her fury in the least. Fred went white as a sheet, and his freckles stood out against his skin in sharp contrast. "You can't!" He said. "I assure you, I can," McGonagall said icily, blazing fury giving way to cold anger. "Professor McGonagall!" The crowd of Gryffindors parted like the Red Sea, with an angry Angelina Johnson their Moses. "You can't expel them! You can't! It was an accident, they said it themselves!" Katie Bell, too had shoved her way to the front, followed by Alicia Spinnet and Hilda Rosh, the two other seventh-year girls. "You can't expel them," Katie said furiously. Standing straight, with Alicia and Hilda to either side like bodyguards and a strange sense of assurance about her, Harry suddenly thought that she was someone he wouldn't want to cross. A feeling emphasized when half the Gryffindors mumbled agreement. "Miss Bell," McGonagall said irritatedly. "I will not expel them. But I could have. Instead," she said, turning back to the twins, "You will have three months detention with Mr. Filch. And I strongly suggest you apologize for the death of his familiar." With a glance of anger and disappointment that made the twins bow their heads with shame, she swept out of the room. Ginny Weasley was the first to break the silence. "Fred and George Weasley, what was that all about?" she demanded, hands on her hips. All the Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, shuddered slightly at her uncanny resemblance to Mrs. Weasley. "Well," George muttered, his hand going to the back of his neck, "We kind of pulled a prank... that went bad..." "In what way?" asked Katie, moving to stand behind Ginny. Evidently, now that McGonagall was gone, nobody felt any need to help the Weasley twins. "We fed Mrs. Norris a Canary Cream," Fred told them. "But I guess it was--- what's the word, George?" "Incompatible," his twin supplied. "Right, incompatible, with cats. She kind of--- kicked it." For a moment, there was silence all through the common room. Then, Dean Thomas croaked, "You--- killed Mrs. Norris." The twins nodded sheepishly. Dean's face broke out in a huge smile. "All right!" A murmur of laughter went around the room, as Parvati elbowed Dean. Hermione took the opportunity to take charge. "Why are we all standing around here?" she said loudly, fingering the Prefect's badge she had pinned to her pajamas. "If McGonagall comes back in here, we'll all lose points! Back to bed, everyone! Come on!" Grumbling, the Gryffindors obeyed, the older students looking disgruntled at being sent to bed by a fifth-year. Harry trudged up the stairs, Ron and the other fifth years on his heels. "They really killed Mrs. Norris?" Dean said, as though he hardly dared to believe it, shutting the door behind him. "Sounds like it," Neville shrugged. "Filch isn't going to be happy about this." "No kidding!" Seamus said, sitting down on his bed with a heavy bounce. Neville chuckled a little. "I'll bet Fred and George never get away with another prank." "Nah," Ron said dismissively. "They'll figure it out. But they'll feel guilty about this for a fair bit." "I would too," piped in Neville. "I mean, Mrs. Norris couldn't have been all bad, could she?" "Yes, she could've," Ron said emphatically. "Harry? You're quiet," Seamus observed. "What's up?" Harry didn't notice as the other three boys all turned to look at him. His eyes were fixed firmly on the wrist of his pajamas, and his mind was working frantically. "There was something I've forgotten," he said slowly. "Something important. I think it was in my dream." "In your dream, eh?" Dean said, a smile starting to form. "Did---" Whatever he was about to say, Seamus decided to stop it in its tracks. Dean returned the pillow thrown at him with twice the force, and, in the resulting scuffle, all thoughts of dreams, cats, and the Weasley twins were soon forgotten. 


	6. VI

Title: Harry Potter and the Knife of Hephaestus (06/?)  
  
Author name: Aradia Ring  
  
Category: Action/Adventure  
  
Sub Category: Mystery  
  
Keywords: Slayt Snape Knife of Hephaestus  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
  
Summary: Harry's fifth year may prove to be the most dangerous of all--- and not just for him. An ancient object holds incredible power, and blood becomes more important than ever before. There's a question around every corner, along with memories of the past that some people would rather not be brought up. The new DADA teacher may hold the key to the mystery, but the question is, will she give it?  
  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Author notes: Well, as my Bio says, I'm pretty much done with the fanfic thing, at least for awhile. I just figured that I'd post these last two chapters on ff.n right now, since I already had them up on Schnoogle and it takes very little effort to translate them over here. The chances that this story will be finished are slim to none. I'm sure no one will mourn the loss anyway, it's not very good now, is it? Hopefully, my original stuff is marginally better. Perhaps I'll start myself up an account over at ? Look for it, I'll use the name Aradia M. Ring (since they won't let me have just Aradia Ring... bastards...)  
  
And yes, this chapter focuses mainly on Damia. If you don't like it, talk to her. She's being a prima donna. (I'd get her wand away from her before you try to talk to her, though...)  
  
All that was talked about the next day was the untimely (or timely, depending on your point of view) demise of Mrs. Norris. Fred and George slunk from class to class, their ears going bright red in the Weasley style whenever someone mentioned the incident. Many of the older students, the Slytherins in particular, hailed them as heroes, while one exceptionally bold and sentimental Ravenclaw second year positively scolded them. They were late to lunch that day. They grabbed their seats next to Harry with wild grins on their faces. "What´s with you? Ron asked his brothers curiously, swallowing a large chunk of food with some difficulty. "We just had Slayt," George informed them loftily. "It seems that she has a cat of her own." "She really chewed us out!" Fred exclaimed, reaching for the pumpkin juice. Apparently, the guilt of Mrs. Norris´ death was fading. "The good thing, though, was that we used up half the class with her talking to us." "The bad thing, though," George put in with a grimace, "Is that she´s as good as Snape in the verbal abuse department." Harry, Ron, and Hermione winced. "Yeah, we know. But, in the end, I think we did an okay thing. No doubt she´s in her rooms right now, telling puss to avoid redheads," Fred finished, winking cockily. Damia was, in fact, in her rooms. But at the moment, she was more likely to be encouraging Icicle to accept treats from the Weasleys than the opposite. "Infernal animal," she muttered, picking up a page of notes. "I´ve lost a week´s work thanks to you. There is an overabundance of mice in the dungeons, if you want to chase some, go down there." She put a mortar and pestle down on the table somewhat herder than she needed to. "I don´t know why I put up with you." Icicle yawned. "I most certainly do not love you anyway," Damia said, her irritation growing by the second. "And if you carry on like that, I´ll be able to supply Severus with a new potions ingredient: blood of telepathic cat." Icicle jumped off of the desk she had been sitting on and pranced her way out of the room, not even pausing to look at Damia as she yowled one last time before disappearing through the doorway. "Even if you are my familiar, you´re still telepathic. And I am not touchy," Damia muttered, although whether she was speaking to Icicle or herself wasn´t clear. She picked up a rag and began mopping up a spilled potion. Opening the drawer to try and salvage whatever the potion had leaked onto, she saw what was probably the last thing in the world she wanted. It was that damn book again. Only this time, no one was about to knock on the door and make her put it away. Raising the familiar cover, she smiled as she saw the first picture. It was her, at age sixteen, surrounded by rejoicing Slytherins and raising a silver trophy to the sky. A broad grin was on her face, and Damia noticed how different it made her look. She had grinned like that only a few times in her life. Once, in her first year, when Armina had shown how little house rivalries meant to her, and how much her sister did. The day Lily said that old grudges be damned, Damia was going to be in her wedding. And the time in the photo, the day she had won the Quidditch cup for Slytherin. She watched the photo as a girl with thick auburn hair came up to her photographic self and the two hugged, both laughing delightedly. She remembered that day very well. The weather that day was horrific. For mid-April, it was abominably cold, and most of the students come to watch the deciding Quidditch match, between Gryffindor and Slytherin, were blowing on their hands and wrapping their scarves more tightly around their necks. Across the field, at the Gryffindor locker room, she saw a scarlet-robed figure shiver distinctively. She smiled a smile that was better described as a smirk. The cold had never bothered her. Time seemed to move abnormally quickly after that. She had only a flash of memory of walking out onto the field to the cheers of one quarter of the crowd, and boos from the rest. Madam Hooch she had always tuned out, this time was no different. But she remembered very clearly the handshake between the two captains, and those coffee-colored eyes staring into her own with a hard challenge. Damia allowed her mouth to raise slightly in an acknowledging smile. Then the game began. Damia was busy from the start. One of the Gryffindor Chasers, a speedy girl with curly brown hair had managed to take hold of the Quaffle and was racing towards the Slytherin goalposts. Damia hissed in frustration, urging her broom to higher and higher speeds, doing her best to catch up with the girl. She was aided by the Bludger that swept across the girl´s path, forcing her to stop short and allowing Damia to neatly pull the ball from her grasp. Damia held the Quaffle under one arm, using the sleeve of her robe to cover the ball as best she could, hoping to hide it from the other team. Of course, it didn´t work, just as she had known it wouldn´t. Her flying, normally graceful, was interrupted several times as she was forced to dive, swerve around, and even flip upside down to avoid the Bludgers sent at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw James Potter, coffee-colored eyes narrowed, hot on her tail. She ignored him, she was almost to the goalposts. She didn´t even wait to get there. With an almost imperceptible flick of one wrist, she tossed the Quaffle through the hoop further away from her. The Keeper wasn´t quite fast enough, and a cheer rang up from the green-clothed section of the crowd. The Gryffindors, outraged that the Slytherins had scored first, retaliated furiously. The Slytherins, not to be outdone, matched them goal for goal. After two hours, the game was at a tie. Damia prayed that the Snitch would be found soon. But the Gryffindors were tiring. Slowly, slowly, Slytherin began to pull ahead. Soon they were leading by fifty points. Then one hundred. Then one hundred and forty. One-quarter of the crowd was going wild with excitement, while the other three-fourths were howling with rage. Damia smirked lightly. Apparently, the Gryffindors didn´t take too well to having their captain and champion, the one and only James Potter, beaten. Especially by a Slytherin. The score was 210-360 when a cry rang out from a small Hufflepuff. "The seekers!" he cried. "The Snitch!" And sure enough, both seekers were in a steep dive, eyes fixed straight ahead on some object Damia couldn´t see, but knew had to be the Snitch. Her heart froze. The Gryffindor seeker was so far in the lead, the Slytherin would never catch up. The game would be a tie. She had not a moment to spare. She grabbed the Quaffle from the hands of the blond Gryffindor who was watching his seeker intently. Ignoring his cries, she pushed her broom as fast as it would go, and faster. She felt the wood underneath her begin to wilt, she was pushing it past its limits. It could very well fail right here and now, and leave her to fall to a broken neck. She pushed it harder. And threw the Quaffle past the keeper and through the hoop just as the Gryffindor seeker triumphantly closed her hand around the Snitch. "The score is 360-370! Slytherin wins!" Lily´s voice rang out through the crowds. Announcing, she had seen Damia´s last goal. The Gryffindors, about to fling their hats into the air, stopped, shocked. Damia floated down to the ground, a smug look on her face. "Slytherin wins the Quidditch Cup!" Lily, though a Gryffindor, sounded genuinely happy, almost as happy as Damia was, with the crowds of Slytherins swarming about her, and Dumbledore, bless his ancient heart, presenting her with the silver cup. Grinning broadly, she raised it to the sky, ignoring the flashes that went off in her face. No doubt it was that Ravenclaw shutterbug again, there was always at least one. "Damia!" She turned and saw Lily running toward her, congratulations written all over her face. The two embraced, laughing. Out of the corner of her eye, Damia saw James Potter, looking sulky and obviously unhappy that his girlfriend was celebrating the fall of Gryffindor. Damia shook her head, and put James Potter out of her mind, concentrating on the here, and now, and how to milk being the new Quidditch star for all it was worth. Damia smiled, a ghost of her grin as she flipped the page of the old photo album. On the next page was a photograph of her and Lily, both smiling happily. She glanced at a nearby mirror, then back at the photo, grimacing. Her mother was right, she had grown into her nose. She sighed as she looked again at the smiling girls in the picture. She remembered that time, also. It had been the seventeenth birthday of one Sirius Black, organized by his parents and held in a fancy dining hall with three sets of silverware for each place setting. Naturally, Sirius hated it, and professed his eternal gratitude to Damia for agreeing to be his date and teaching him which fork to use. Halfway through the dinner, Sirius had jumped up, grabbed Damia´s hand, and dragged her out of the banquet hall. Not to be left out, James, Lily, Remus and Peter had followed, and the six had spent the evening comparing chocolate milkshakes at various Muggle drive-through restaurants. Lily waved happily at Damia from her perch on the hood of the Muggle car Peter had owned, a lime-green Volkswagen made exciting by the chance that the engine could explode at any second. As a joke that night, they had each worn robes of the other´s House colors. Damia was arrayed in splendid scarlet and gold, while Lily was regal in green and silver. There had been some commentary on how the traded colors suited them better then their usuals. She watched as her photographic self raised a paper cup filled with thick liquid in a mock salute to Sirius, who had entered from the side of the frame. The photo Sirius leapt at the two girls and hugged them. Damia heard a tinny scream as both girls´ images fell backwards, and the chocolate shake flew up into the air. A rowl from the bedroom jerked Damia out of her nostalgia. Icicle stood by the door, meowing furiously at Damia, whose eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "You´re right," she muttered, closing the old photo album and putting it away. "I´ll see you later tonight," she added, slipping her cloak about her shoulders and sweeping out the door. Icicle watched her go, then returned to her warm spot on the bed, grumbling about errant humans and their duties. Professor Slayt was late to class that day. When she entered the room, her long black cloak sweeping out behind her like a pair of wings, every Gryffindor in the room was instantly silent. "I have some news," Slayt informed them, her eyes daring them to ask what it was. "The Knife of Hephaestus has been stolen." Gasps issued from several members of the class, who then went bright red and tried to sink into the floor, Seamus in particular. They had all learned enough about the Knife at this point that they knew what it could do, in the wrong hands. "Professor," Lavender said, raising a tentative hand. "I thought the Ministry was guarding it. Wasn´t it safe?" Slayt sighed, rising from her desk and moving around in front of it. The class leaned forward in anticipation; these movements always meant that she was about to share a particularly important piece of information. "Miss Brown," she began, her face carefully empty. "You will find, in the future, that whatever our Ministry is doing, it will usually turn out wrong." "That´s awfully cynical," Dean pointed out. Slayt smiled wryly. "That´s empirical, Thomas. In all the years that I have been around to see it, the Ministry has never accomplished anything worth mentioning. It is absolutely useless." "That´s not true," Dean protested. "We need some sort of government; otherwise there would be absolutely no order." Slayt shifted position slightly, a sign that she was interested. "That, in itself, is true," she admitted. "But you do not understand what I´m saying. My point here is not that we don´t need a government, but that the government we have now is a bad one. The corruption within the Ministry is endless, and the only ones who rise to any sort of power are mindless sycophants, who are useless when it comes to handling difficult situations. Look at our current Minister, he is an excellent example. When You-Know-Who managed to find a new body, Minister Fudge refused to acknowledge his rebirth. But we´re off the topic. Back to the Knife." "Who stole it?" Parvati asked. Slayt smiled blandly. "Officially, we do not know. Unofficially--- well, can´t you guess, Miss Patil?" Parvati didn´t answer, and Slayt continued. "With You-Know-Who holding the Knife´s power, he would be nearly invincible. Thankfully, he does not yet know how to use its full power. There are only five people who have ever unlocked that particular secret." "Who are they, Professor?" Harry asked, his curiosity taking over his desire for the Defense professor to leave him alone. Her lip curled in a sneer, albeit an elegant one. "One was the great wizard Merlin. It´s speculated that he taught it to a witch under his tutelage, but it was never confirmed. The next was Rowena Ravenclaw, one of the founders of this school. She disappeared one day, right out of her bedroom, and the Knife was found lying on the floor by her bed. Most people think that she accidentally trapped herself in another world, but there are some who think she was murdered by Salazar Slytherin." "What do you think, Professor?" Dean asked. Slayt answered, "I am of the former party. There was never any evidence of her death, and, Slytherin never tried to lay claim to the Knife. After Ravenclaw came a wizard named Martin Applesherry. He took great delight in using the Knife to confuse Muggles. I believe there was an American ship that he transported all people aboard to another world, leaving the ship itself adrift in the ocean, completely devoid of people. The Muggles still talk about it. It was Applesherry who gave the Bermuda triangle its reputation, and any disappearances that occur nowadays are from unclosed bidimensional doorways, or residual magic from the Knife. Next in the line was Fiona Roxton, the last member of the Ravenclaw bloodline. She was killed by the Dark Wizard Grindelwald when she refused to tell him about the Knife, where it was, and how to use it. She was given a hero's funeral, although I'm sure that was cold comfort to her friends. She was twenty-one when she died, had been married for under half a year and was two months pregnant. She was tortured to death." All the people in the room, Slayt included, winced slightly. "And what about the last person?"Seamus prompted. Slayt looked at Seamus, and he shrank back slightly. "Her name, age, physical description, and location are all classified information, Mr. Finnigan. But I´ll tell you what I can. She is alive today, which puts her in incredible danger. She, like all the rest of the people who knew the way of the Knife, lives here, in the United Kingdom. The Knife is an English artifact," she added, "And our Ministry is reluctant to give information about it to foreigners. Which makes it impossible for anyone not from this country to learn enough about it to work with it. Are there any other questions?" "Is she clever?" Hermione asked, looking as though she had just found herself a new role model. "They say she´s incredibly intelligent, although I personally wouldn´t know," Slayt answered. "We´ve never been introduced." "What is it about the Knife that only five people ever knew?" Ron asked, abruptly changing the subject. Slayt´s mouth twitched, and, if Harry didn´t know better, he would say she looked almost pleased. "What the Knife cuts is very difficult to see." Slayt chose her words very carefully. "It takes a very well-trained and talented mind to see the barriers between worlds, for example. The most adept at that sort of work are usually, but not always, trained Seers. Both Rowena Ravenclaw and Fiona Roxton had the Sight. Although," she added, a bit scornfully, "I doubt our esteemed Divination Teacher, Sibyll Trelawney, has the innate talent needed to use the Knife." Seamus chuckled slightly, and Slayt graced him with a tight smile. It suddenly occurred to Harry that he had seen a smile exactly like that somewhere. He couldn´t quite remember where. Damia Slayt, Damia Slayt, her smile... It hit him without warning. Damia Slayt--- Damien Slayt. His dream came flying back to him in a rush of information, and he yelled out, falling backwards in his chair. "Harry?" He heard Ron and Hermione, on either side of him, scrambling to get out of their chairs. "Are you all right?" Hermione´s worried face appeared before his own, with Ron´s just behind it. "Potter, do you need to go to the infirmary?" Slayt asked sharply, looking as though she was torn between wanting to get Harry away from her, and being... no, Harry must have imagined it, Slayt hated him almost as much as Snape did. But for a moment, she had looked concerned for him. "No," he stuttered, after taking a moment to collect himself. "I´m fine," he stated again, more firmly. And to the surprise of all, he picked up his chair, sat down, and continued with the lesson like everything was normal. Steadfastly, he ignored Ron and Hermione´s curious looks throughout the class. But once class ended, they pulled him to the side of the hallway, and with concerned words, asked him what had happened. In a low voice, Harry explained his dream, and its connection with Slayt. "We need to go to Dumbledore," Hermione pronounced as soon as Harry was finished. "With what?" Ron asked irritably. "We´ve got no proof. Of anything." "Let´s find out just who Damien Slayt is first," Harry said. "I want to know about him." Hermione held out that the three should go to Dumbledore, but after a few moments, Harry and Ron managed to talk her around. "I never thought I´d hear you say that you didn´t want to go to the library," Ron smirked. Hermione glared at him. "I still think this is a bad idea," she muttered. "But I´ve hardly a chance to stop it. We might as well get started." "Or," Harry said, checking his watch. "You two go start it. I´ve got Quidditch practice. I´ll come and help as soon as I´m done, I promise." "Right," Ron replied. "Better hurry up then. The Captain can´t be late." With a quick "good luck" to both of his friends, Harry set off towards the Quidditch pitch, grabbing their new Keeper, a tiny fourth- year girl by the name of Silver Hogu as he went. Practice went well, and Harry was in a good mood as he left the broom shed. Silver had an uncanny talent for reading the movements of the Chasers, and therefore always knew where the ball was headed. She hadn´t missed a single shot. "Slytherin won´t know what hit em!" Fred and George had whooped, as they grabbed Silver off her broom and gave her a Weasley- sandwich hug. "Sure they will," the girl quipped,settling back on her broom and brushing back a strand of the short-cut hair that made her look like a miniature elf. "Fred and George Weasley, who else would it be?" Harry was smiling as he entered the library. His smile quickly disappeared, however, when he saw the mound of books and scrolls in front of his two best friends. Hermione, facing the door, looked up and saw him. "Nothing, Harry," she said, answering his unspoken question. "These records are all out of order! The birth records go from 1959 to 1732, and that´s the lowest jump! The family trees are in no alphabetical order, newspaper clippings- " "I´ve been sitting through this for the past two hours," Ron said to Harry in a low voice as Hermione continued with her rant. "She made me go up to Madam Pince about an hour ago and ask for the family trees of names beginning with S.´ I´m surprised I got away from there with all four limbs." "I heard that, Ron!" said Hermione, surprising the other two. "And unless you´ve got a better idea-" "I do," said Harry suddenly. "Accio Slayt family records!" A few minutes later, he was forced to duck as a book the size of Hermione came barreling straight for his head. "Potter!" Madam Pince shrieked. "No magic in the library! Ten points from Gryffindor!" "We´re just lucky she didn´t throw us out," Hermione muttered as Ron heaved the book up off the floor and dropped it onto the table so hard Harry thought the legs might collapse. "Here, let me." She flipped through the pages of the book, muttering to herself. "Slayt, Slayt.... Ah! Here!" She pointed to a name in large block letters at the top of page 478. "´Damien Slayt.  
Family: Born November 12, 1936, to Julius and Cynthia Slayt. Married  
Hippolyta Lene (deceased) in 1958. Father of Damia Slayt, born 1960,  
and Armina Slayt (deceased), born 1960.  
Current Age: 59  
Education: Attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,  
Slytherin House alumnus. Prefect.  
Career and Achievements: Damien Slayt was the head of Ministry  
Intelligence between 1968 and 1981. He donated 400,000 Galleons to the  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in 1979, as a scholarship  
trust for Muggle-born students. In 1974, he donated 100,000 Galleons  
to the Ministry of Magic to build a new Auror training facility.  
Damien Slayt is now retired, and resides in Slayt Manor, in  
Scotland.´" The three looked at each other. "He sounds like he´s about as close to perfect as possible," Harry said. "That´s what worries me," Hermione said darkly. "Here, Professor Slayt´s on the next page." "´Damia Slayt.  
Family: Born January 19, 1960 to Damien and Hippolyta Slayt  
(deceased). One sister, twin, Armina Slayt (deceased). Single.  
Current Age: 35  
Education: Attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,  
Slytherin House alumnus. Prefect.  
Career and Achievements: Damia Slayt is currently working as a  
professor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The official  
residence of Damia Slayt is Slayt Manor, in Scotland.´"  
"Not much about her, is there?" Ron said lightly.  
Hermione said softly, "I wonder why."  
"Let´s look at her sister," Harry suggested. Hermione´s finger moved  
to the right.  
"´Armina Slayt (deceased).  
Family: Born January 20, 1960, to Damien and Hippolyta Slayt  
(deceased). One sister, twin, Damia Slayt.  
Education: Completed through Year Two at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft  
and Wizardry.  
Age at Death: 13  
Cause of Death: Broom malfunction.  
Armina Slayt is survived by her parents, Damien and Hippolyta Slayt,  
and her twin sister, Damia Slayt. She is buried on the grounds of  
Slayt Manor, in Scotland.´" Hermione looked up. "She died when she was  
thirteen." "Hagrid did say she died young," Harry said quietly. "That was after the two of you left," he added. "Broom malfunction... I wonder what happened." Hermione closed the book. "I think," she said softly, "That we´d best leave the past be." And as her two friends watched, she reached out and slid the book back onto the shelf. As the three walked out of the library, Harry wondered just how big a mistake he was making. 


End file.
